


First Rule of Flying

by jillyfae



Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2017-12-22 20:43:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a love story, from start to end and start again</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [browncoatfromtheshire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/browncoatfromtheshire/gifts).



> Captain Malcolm Reynolds:
>
>> You can learn all the math in the 'verse, but you take a boat in the air that you don't love, she'll shake you off just as sure as the turn of the world. Love keeps her in the air when she ought to fall down. Tells you she's hurting before she keens. Makes her a home.

_The first time she kissed him, she had half a frozen breath to be sure she'd gone crazy.  And then he kissed her back, warm and sure, and she could feel the beat of her heart and the shift of his breath and she wondered, instead, if she was finally going sane._

_The last time she kissed him, his skin was still warm, but his hands were too still, and he never kissed her back._

_She was sure she'd never be sane again._

_Until, of course, she had to be, 'cause the 'Verse don't stop for grief._  

 

* * *

 

The first time Zoe Alleyne met Hoban Washburne she frisked him.

Only sensible, man she didn't know getting on their ship.

Wasn't that a dreadful thought, _yi da tuo da bian_ as theirs.

Not as dreadful as the new pilot's mustache.

She wasn't quite sure 'the Captain' had a damn clue as to what he'd signed them up for.

But.

Not like she had elsewhere to be, or anyone else left she could trust there with her.

She and Mal, they'd kept each other alive during the war.

Brought each other back to living, after.

Dust devil wasn't anything she wanted to stay, hadn't ever wanted to be, so this.  This ship was _jao gao,_ but was at least looking forward, a bit, 'stead of back.

But did Mal have to hire such a crew to fly it for him?

 

* * *

 

Second time the first mate met the pilot, she was startled into shaking his hand.  Looked a damn sight more like a person without that _thing_ hanging on over his mouth, though he still clearly had dreadful taste in clothing. 

He looked like a character from some child's show, bright and goofy and clashing, red and blue and green _and_ _were those palm-trees?_   All he needed were those giant wiggly eyes they always had to complete the image.

"Takes a _nuhn tze huhn_ to pull this one off, don't it?"  He grinned at her as she tried not to squint.  But he stowed his gear quick enough to prove he wasn't completely useless, and even seemed as happy to be playing 'round in the cockpit as one would want in a pilot.

The Captain was right, he had a damn fine reputation, and looked like he might even live up to most of it, the way he was working the boards and setting things up.

Even so. 

She hoped he could cook, something tasty to make up for the pain he was causing her eyeballs.

 

* * *

 

She had to swallow a grin the first morning he showed up for breakfast wearing a shirt with a parrot hiding behind the leaves across his shoulder. 

He would've made a dreadful pirate, for all he did the squint and the _arrr_ and pretended to stomp a peg-leg while she was trying to eat.  She actually laughed at that, short and bright and echoing off the walls, and he whistled as he headed up to the cockpit, undeniably pleased with himself.

Bester blinked as if he'd never imagined she could laugh before.  Man had a singular lack of imagination for a mechanic.  Seemed unlikely to be good at troubleshooting, and wasn't that the whole reason for the Captain to pick a firefly?  Could be held together with fancy tape and string and spit and gumption?

Pilot seemed to have some gumption to go along with his dreadful taste.  Mayhap it'd make up for the mechanic's lack.

 

* * *

 

She liked the cockpit, when she didn't have nothing else for doing, clear view of their path, of all that space.  Trying not to smile at the dinosaurs hiding between buttons successfully distracted her from the ache between her shoulder-blades, the weight of always watching, waiting for them to lose. 

Again.

Being right didn't help none when you were dead, and the Captain ...

Well.

Least said soonest mended, wasn't that how that went?  Didn't think it was working for him, but she didn't know what else to do.  Wasn't one for words, not like him, or the Companion and her charms, or even the pilot and his rambling stories.  She'd guard Mal's back, like always, and try and remember how to hope.

Meanwhile, though ...

She liked the stars.

Sometimes the pilot was there, and he'd just shoot her half his crooked smile, and lean back in his chair, admiring the view.

Who knew.  Silly man knew how to be quiet sometimes too.

 

* * *

 

She took to spending a bit more time in the cockpit than she'd ever expected.  She liked watching him fly.  Nice to see a man good at his job.  Nice to see a man who loved his job, the way he leaned in to the boards, the way his fingers would pause, sometimes, just a titch above the controls, savorin' the possibilities. 

Hadn't been a whole heck of a lot of _savoring_ in her life, truth be told.

It took awhile, perhaps not nearly as long a while as it shoulda, but soon enough she started _noticing_ things, noticed herself watching the spread of his knuckles; the way the hair on his arms would catch the light and reflect back, sometimes white, sometimes almost red, redder than his hair, though still pale; the way he got quieter, _calmer,_ the worse shape they were in.

If he was swearing at the Captain about how they was likely about to die, she knew they were probably fine, and she could lean back and close her eyes and try and feel the shift of the ship around her, try and guess what he'd do next.

She was usually wrong, and gladly so, as they always ended up where they needed to be.

Mayhap the Captain had done right after all, with _Serenity,_ and with her crew.

Bester was still a right idiot, though.

 

* * *

 

The pilot told the stupidest stories. 

She wanted to hear all of them.

Even told a few of her own, now and then, just to keep him talking over the latest attempt to remix the same rice and proteins into tasting like something better.

 

* * *

 

The day they snagged Cobb was when she realized. 

She wasn't that surprised to see the Captain cornered in the cockpit, the pilot's hands cutting through the air as he stood too close and his face shifted with something perilous-like anger, and she stepped up the stairs to soothe the man, _Captain knows what he's doing,_ and that spark in his eyes flared up higher, 'xactly the opposite of what she'd meant, and she realized it had more than a hint of fear.

Not for himself, he had the sure smooth arrogance of all pilots on their ships, _untouchable here, this is mine,_ even if he hid it in jokes and stories.  Not even for the Captain, the one who kept them all flying, the one who'd made the offer, who'd picked the new muscle for their side.  But for her, who'd be out in the dirt with that half-cocked _ja hwo_ running free at her side.

She didn't know what to say to that.  How to know that, even, how to let that sort of feeling exist in front of her and ... what?  Tell him it was none of his to be worrying about?

_But mayhap I want it to be?_

Her throat was too tight to say a thing more, and he seemed to have lost track of his arguing, and the Captain slipped away with a shake of his head, leaving them to their staring.

"Zoe."  Wash's hands shifted again, awkward for the first time that she'd ever seen, his voice cracking right in the middle of her name.

_He ever said my name like that before?_

_Anyone ever said my name like that?_

She shook her head, just a little, and she saw his eyes close, his hands still, his shoulders curve down, and it hurt, Wash still like that, _because of me._

"I ain't callin' you Hoban." It made no sense, that answer, and yet it did, somehow, all the sense they needed, his spine straightening as he lifted his chin, and her body went breathless at his smile.

"Nobody does, 'cept my mother when she's particular mad."

"You're mother ain't got no place in this conversation."  She was closer to him now than she'd ever been before, close enough to whisper and still feel like her voice was too loud.

"No, she really doesn't."  He wasn't smilling any more.  There was something in his eyes even better, something dark, something determined.  "Come out with me tonight?"

Zoe blinked.  "Like.  A date?"

The smile was back, broad and silly, heat hiding in his eyes.  "Exactly like."

"Huh."  She shook her head again, feeling her own lips curving into something that was probably a bit more of a smile than usual.  He was waiting for a proper answer, hands loose at his sides and eyebrows lifted, but he didn't rock up on his feet to make himself taller like so many men seemed to need to do once she stood too close.  "Yeah, that seems just fine."

 

* * *

 

He took her out to dinner, some place far enough from the port to be _fancy._   Fancier than she was used to, by more than a little.  

She wasn't quite sure why she'd agreed to this, this whatever it was, heavy cloth tablecloths and candles, _his shirt is only one color,_ who was this and what was he doing on the other side of this ridiculously small table?

"Can I kiss your legs?"

If she'd been drinking she would've choked, and as it was she could feel her mouth gaping slightly open with a complete lack of any words anywhere in the vicinity of her brain.

"They're really good legs."

She blinked.  He smiled, that same familiar crooked wicked sweet smile.

_Oh._

That's what they were doing.

And suddenly dinner wasn't awkward at all.  He looked mighty fine in his fancy duds, and she was smiling back, slow and warm.

"Maybe later."

Later wasn't all that much later, truth be told. 

She kissed him over dessert, and for all there'd been an instant of startlement, and it hadn't lasted more'n a breath or two, she never after could enjoy sweet cream and chocolate without tasting the memory of that first kiss against her lips.

First kisses, in her experience, were more a question of possibility than reality, too hesitant or too sudden, liable to be awkward, something that got rushed through too quickly on the way to something better.

This one wasn't any of those things, aching and sweet in the brief press of their lips, and she could feel his breath against her mouth when they parted, and she wasn't sure her heart was still beating.

She wasn't sure she'd survive better.

She was good at surviving though.  Seemed a better reason than most, living for more kisses like that.

" _Zhufu ni,_ Zoe Alleyne," he whispered, his voice a rasp that made her want to do more than just kiss him. 

"Blessings already?" Her breath eased out as she felt the arch of her brow and the width of her smile.  She stretched one foot just enough to rub it slowly up the outside of his calf.  "Can't wait to hear what you say when we do finally get to my legs."

He made a sound, half a strangled grunt caught in his throat, his hand pressed to his heart as his head tilted back, and then he was turning, looking for the waiter.  "Check?"

She laughed, surprising herself with the sound of it, low and teasing, and oh, he was pleased at that, she could see it in the flash of his eyes as he grinned.

No, that wasn't just a grin, that was a smirk.

She may have licked her lips, just to watch him blink, to make that smirk crack and let some of the heat between them show through.

They pooled their takes from the last job, slightly smaller than had originally been expected, what with paying Jayne too, but still.  Pretty good cut, all things told, more than enough for a nice room o'their own.  Just for the night.

It was a very good night.

He kissed a lot more than just her legs, and _wo de tian a_ , the kisses did just keep getting better.

 

* * *

_War changes people._  

Cliched but true, as all the worst cliches were.

She never had nightmares.  Not really.  Not the sort that make your breath catch, or your body jerk away, or your arms shift.  She'd spent too long, worked too hard, on the control she needed;  hadn't ever been about to give away her position because she lost that control in her sleep.

Even when her sleep was safe, she couldn't let it go.

Not anymore.

Somehow he knew, even so, the first time he was there when her dreams turned dark, blood and memories.  She woke up cold, and his hands were there, warm and strong against her skin, the whisper of his voice, crooning something sweet and meaningless, and her muscles turned loose and heavy and her chest ached, but it was a good ache, because she wasn't alone.

He wasn't going anywhere.

 

* * *

 

She wasn't usually one to rush into things.  That was the Captain, sudden and unexpected when under fire, buying _Serenity_ at first sight, hiring Kaylee after half a conversation. 

Not that she disagreed about Kaylee.  Delightful, she was, and endlessly smarter than Bester.

Not that that was saying much.

Pretty sure Kaylee was smarter than the Captain, too, but that wasn't saying much neither.  Loved Mal like family, but he tended to lack sense.

That was her job.

Only she didn't think sense applied, just this once.

They got married on Persephone.  Wash had to borrow a tie, and she had to rent a dress, but it didn't feel rushed at all.  They'd taken all the time they needed before they met; now they were just clearing up the loose ends.

Tying them together.

'Sides, Inara knew the best Honeymoon Suite on the planet, and the Captain had a nice quick easy job he could run for Badger right there in town, so they got almost a week to themselves.

Couldn't ask for a better present than that.

Well.

Maybe two weeks.

 

* * *

 

She quite liked being married.  Not that it was really much different than not being married had been, beyond that bright little flash of a thought in the back of her head, _my husband._  

It was a good thought though.  She never did get tired of it.  Even when he was occasionally a mite stupid.

Man was still a man, after all.

Could almost always make her laugh.  Never realized how good that felt, 'til he made sure she wouldn't forget again.

He was really bad at poetry.

He was really good with his hands.

He never did get tired of her legs.

She never did get tired of kissing him.

Never had thought she'd fall in love.  Not really.  Not for truth, not with someone who loved her back, not in a way that would last.

Never had been so glad to be wrong.

 

* * *

 

After Niska, he had nightmares. 

She almost missed it, almost wasn't there for him, as he'd been for her, almost let him wake up cold and alone, almost slept through it when he turned away, trying to hide cold sweats and a shiver in those nimble hands of his, as if fear or pain was something to be ashamed of, rather than something to be lived through.

Almost.

But not quite.

She felt him, even sleeping, and so she turned as well, reaching her hand around his stomach, throwing her leg over his, holding him in place, _here, love, with me,_ until he sighed, and turned, and tucked his head against the curve of her shoulder.

She didn't sleep so much, that night.  She didn't mind.  She'd always been good at guarding the things that mattered.

 

* * *

 

Until she wasn't good enough at the only thing she was good for. 

Until he saved them, _again,_ until he did the impossible, until she thought they'd made it, _of course we made it, of course he's fine, he's always fine, he can fly us through anything..._

The world was red, and his head was too heavy against her chest, and Mal made her leave him behind, _left him for the Reavers,_ and she'd never hated anyone like she did the Captain, for not letting her die.

 

* * *

 

She still didn't have nightmares, after. 

Seemed unfair, a body could live through all of that, could hurt so much breathing seemed a cruelty, and not even get a bad dream or two to break up the darkness when it got too quiet.

She didn't really sleep at all.  Wasn't really awake neither.  Not for awhile.  Too sore, too tired.

Too sick.

_Too late._

Until the day she was standing in the middle of their quarters, staring at a row of bright ugly beautiful shirts, and she realized sick and sore and tired and late all fit for a few different reasons, and made herself go talk to Simon.

Mayhap she let herself hate Wash for just a little while then.  Hated him for leaving her, alone and not alone enough, hated him for making her want to see his smile in someone else's eyes, hated him for making her be the responsible one.

_Again._

But then she thought of little hands holding toy dinosaurs, and a little voice trying to roar, and she was sitting in the mess sobbing at the table, giant hot tears catching between her fingers, and Kaylee kept apologizing as she tried to make some tea, and she could hear footsteps coming down from the cockpit, _Captain that, never can hear River walking,_ and then she was laughing, huge gasping breaths and her hands pressed to her mouth as she leaned on the table, imagining their child running down that hallway.

_The pitter-patter of little feet ..._

She looked up to see Mal, his face too still and his mouth not quite open, poor man so very lost at the sight of her in hysterics, and she started giggling, and shaking her head, and God, they were all looking at her like she had finally gone 'round the bend.

Finally there was Simon, kneeling down beside her, lifting his eyebrows, willing to let her cry if that was what she needed, eyes warmer than she would have ever expected, back when they first met and he seemed stiffer than his collars.  "Zoe," he started, then stopped.

Never was very good with words, Simon.

She grinned at him, the room still all shiny from the tears in her eyes and her lashes.  "If I have a boy, I ain't calling him Hoban."

 

* * *

 

Kaylee had dropped the mug she'd finally managed to fill, Jayne's swearing a rough echo following the shatter of ceramic. 

There had been a breathless silent sort of pause, no one minding the tea spreading across the floor, and then everyone had moved at once, and she was being hugged, and even Mal was laughing, and Kaylee didn't even seem to need to breathe to keep talking, a delighted babble of words soothing fears Zoe hadn't even figured out how to put into proper thoughts yet.

Wash was gone, but they weren't alone.

Not by a long shot.

 

* * *

_She had her father's eyes, and her mother's spine.  Both metaphor and literal that; girl grew out of her clothes faster than seemed possible, and never once knew when to drop her glare, even when she lost an argument._  

_At five._

_Aunt Kaylee taught her how to fix her toys, either to make 'em prettier or to run 'em faster.  Sometimes both._

_Aunt River taught her to dance.  Both kinds: the sort on her feet, and the sort that made_ Serenity _go._

_Uncle Simon taught her all the proper things to say in polite society.  And how to clean up bloody knuckles when polite failed._

_Uncle Mal taught her to keep her eyes on the sky.  Ain't nothing could stop 'em moving, if they were willing to fight for it._

_Jayne.  Well.  Jayne never did stop being a bad influence, but anyone who attempted to give the Washburne ladies trouble tended to get introduced to Vera, and that was as close to sweet as Jayne was ever going to get._

_Her mother gave her dinosaurs, and flowered shirts, and nice solid leather boots.  Taught her how to shoot, and when to wait so you didn't have to, and made sure to tell her stupid stories every night before she went to sleep._

_Even though their daughter never met him, she listened to every story anyone could tell her about her father, and through them, Wash taught her how to laugh._

Serenity _kept her safe, and her crew taught her that she was loved._

_And with that she could go anywhere in the 'Verse, and do whatever needed to be done._

_With that she could fly._


	2. not quite tragedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am, by no stretch of the imagination, a poet. But I do occasionally do some free verse as a writing exercise, as a way to get the brain and the fingers moving, or instead of an outline (as I cannot outline to save my life) and when I was working on the first chapter of this for Elle, I came up with the rough draft of this.
> 
> And it makes me cry, every time I find it hiding in my folders, so now I’m sharing. 
> 
> You’re welcome.

she wore her new dress to his funeral

it reminded her of who he’d been

bright  
hopeful

he liked light  
and stars  
and dinosaurs

she’d make sure their little one liked dinosaurs  
and peanut butter sandwiches  
and the way the stars shone in space

so bright  
so clear  
better than any sunrise  
or sunset  
stuck on the ground

their child would have the sky  
and they would make sure _he_ was remembered  
even by the baby who had never met him  
never had the chance to be held  
in hands that seemed soft  
but were always strong  
careful and sure  
and gentle

she was afraid  
she would forget his laugh  
the growl of his dinosaurs  
the shift of his shoulders when he was confused  
or surprised  
or trying to avoid her eyes

not that he did that often

he loved her eyes  
he loved her everything  
as she loved him

the dress had been a surprise

he never got to see it  
he would have liked the line of it  
he would have called it slinky

she liked the color  
white  
like stars  
like hope  
like a future they never had

he would’ve hated to see her in black  
he liked color  
he had awful taste in color  
but he liked it  
and she hated to admit  
she was going to miss his damn shirts

it wasn’t the same  
a row in the closet  
hanging side by side  
clashing with each other  
never to drape across his shoulders  
to shift with his arms as he spoke  
as he flew

he would never fly again

or perhaps  
she could pretend  
to believe  
that he was flying now  
would fly forever  
somewhere else  
somewhere beyond  
that he’d be there  
when she was done

he’d meet her  
somewhere where they’d be free  
where the stars would shine  
and never hide behind the clouds

where they could plant their feet  
and love again

she would always love him

and the first time she heard their child laugh  
she knew she’d never lose him

his memory  
his light  
his star  
in her heart

she missed   
his stupid stories

_who juggles goslings?_

she missed  
watching him fly  
and so she did her best  
to make new stories  
of a man   
and his ship  
and his family

_once upon a time_

there was a man  
who wore ugly shirts  
and played with toys  
and made me laugh  
and saved my soul  
and broke my heart  
and gave me you

my darling  
my child  
my one

you have his eyes  
his laugh  
you shift your shoulders when you don’t want to tell me  
that you did something  
you know you shouldn’t have  
and I can read the moment in your face  
when you decided not to lie  
because you are his child

you have his honor  
and his strength  
and his heart  
and I shall always be proud of you

because

like him

you will always stand back up again  
you will keep flying  
no matter what the ‘verse throws at you

and if someday you fall  
remember  
that he loves you  
and I love you  
and you will never be forgotten  
or forsaken

you will always have a home  
a family

_serenity_

you will be free  
because of him  
and what he did for you  
and me

and maybe  
Aunt River will teach you how to dance among the stars  
and I will watch your hands dance  
and your voice lift  
and you shall remind me  
of him  
again  
and again

and I promise not to cry  
even when my heart breaks  
because he would want to see you smile

and there is nothing  
more beautiful  
in all the ‘verse  
than your laugh  
inside our ship  
and I know  
he hears it too


End file.
